


Guiding Light

by disloyalorderoftrash



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2009!phan, Anxiety, Depression, M/M, Self-Hatred, and another song title of course, and look at the amazing summary, but well, i used to write emo poetry to vent now i write fanfiction, i wrote this as a way of dealing with my feelings, if you relate i'm really sorry, not sure if it's a good idea to post this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 12:28:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6374743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disloyalorderoftrash/pseuds/disloyalorderoftrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan is feeling like shit, Phil comforts him on the phone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guiding Light

## Guiding Light

I am surprised by how long I have been feeling well. It must have been the first time in years that I went for almost an entire month without having a breakdown or feeling blue to the point of not being able to function like a normal human being. But of course it had to return one day, and worse than usual to make up for all the happy days. 

I have been vaguely down all day, and it doesn't take much to set it off. In math in the afternoon, the teacher asks me to answer the question and explain the solution to the class. Not having done the homework, I have no idea how to solve it. 

Muted, I sit there, staring at my teacher. My palms break out in cold sweat, and my mouth goes dry. He repeats my name impatiently. “Would you please come to the front and show us how to do it?” 

I can feel every classmate's eyes burning on me. My chest constricts, making it hard to breathe. If I try to speak now, my voice will crack and I will start crying. 

“Dan?” 

Silently, I shake my head. 

“Well then”, our teacher says, lips twisting in disapprovement. “If you refuse to participate...” He doesn't continue, but I can sense his anger and disappointment when he proceeds to ask another student. 

For the rest of the lesson, I am unable to concentrate. My head replays the scene over and over again. My hands are shaking, my heart pounding, and any attempt to focus on the mathematical equations is prevented by my blurry vision. 

Don't cry, I tell myself. Breathe. Just don't cry now. 

I silently repeat the same mantra to myself while I am sitting on the bus, staring out of the window. Luckily, none of my friends is there with me, so I don't have to talk to anyone. 

As soon as I have turned my back on the bus and the people in it, the knot in my chest breaks and tears start falling on my cheeks. They feel cold in the November wind as I walk the familiar route to my house, half-blinded. My brain is now firing different reasons to hate myself at me, telling me I am an utter failure in every way. It goes through every single conversation I had during the last weeks, picking out every wrong and possibly offensive word I have said to anyone. 

By the time I arrive at home I am sure, no, I _know_ that everybody I know is annoyed by me and hates me. 

I put My Chemical Romance into the CD player and choke out a laugh because on top of all, I am such an obnoxious stereotypical emo teenager, sobbing along to The Black Parade, and I hate it. I hate, hate, hate myself. 

If I was someone else, I would surely hate me too. And now I'm so weak, so _whiney_ , breaking down and crying for no real reason at all. Other people don't react like that. I deserve it, don't I? It's my own fault if I can't be stronger. 

After a while, it becomes easier to breathe. I manage to stand up and walk to the kitchen with the vague plan of eating something or maybe drink a cup of tea to calm me down. 

On my way, I pass a mirror. I stop and stare at myself, with my tearstained cheeks and reddened eyes, and I look horrible. Seeing my face makes me choke up again. I'm so sorry for everyone that has ever had to look at me. I don't ever want to leave the house again, don't want anyone to see me. 

That also goes for my date later today. 

I pull out my phone and ignore the few new messages. I open the chat I was looking for and type in, “Hey phil, i'm not feeling well, so no skype today. sorry xx”. I send it before I can change my mind and delete the message again. 

He immediately responds. “Are you sick?” 

I hesitate. Should I say yes? He would probably understand that better than my stupid breakdown. But I can't lie to him, and I don't want him to worry. “Kind of... not really sick”, I type. 

“What is it, then?” 

I put the phone down and close my eyes. Of course that question had to come. I should have lied, but it's too late now. I can't tell him about how I'm feeling, he will think I'm just being ridiculous and overdramatic, he will _know_ that I am, and he will stop liking me. That is, if he ever did. 

My phone informs me I have a new message again. It reads, “Dan???” 

The multiple question marks scare me. He is confused and probably angry at me for being like that, being the way I am - 

It starts ringing, Phil's name on the display. I stare at it, waiting for the ringing to end, for him to give up, but he doesn't. After about twenty seconds that feel like hours, I accept the call and press the phone to my ear with my shaking hand. 

“What's wrong, Dan?” He doesn't sound angry at all. He sounds worried. 

“I'm sorry”, I try to say, but it comes out as a whisper. 

“Why? What are you sorry about?” 

“I – I can't...” 

“Oh my god”, he says. “Please don't say... please don't tell me you're breaking up with me.” 

“What?” Now it's my turn to be shocked. “No! I wouldn't... I would never... especially not on the _phone_.” 

He sighs, deeply relieved. “You're right. But what is it, then? Why can't we see each other today?” 

“It's silly. You wouldn't understand”, I mumble. 

“Let me at least try”, he urges me. “Please.” 

“I'm too ugly”, I blurt out and immediately cringe at the words. “I mean, I... I'm terrible, and I – don't get why you would like me. Or anyone would. If you're annoyed by me, just tell me now, and I'll never bother you again.” 

“Oh. Okay.” He takes a deep breath. “First of all, you do not annoy me, you never have and you probably never will, even if you tried.” I remain silent. He is just saying that because he has to, isn't he? 

“I know what you're thinking”, he says. “I'm not lying to you or saying that just to make you feel better. I mean it.” 

“Really?”, I ask in a small voice. 

“Really”, he assures me. “And... oh god, you're not ugly, surely not. You're beautiful, even if you don't believe me now, you really are. And I would love to see you right now, but if you don't feel up to it – Skype, I mean – that's okay.” His voice goes soft as he says, “I just want you to feel good.” 

I almost tear up again, this time out of gratefulness and affection for Phil. I'm so incredibly thankful to know him. 

“I don't deserve you”, I say, choking on the words. “I'm so... I'm such a bad person, I know that everybody hates me, but I can't stopped being like this, I'm trapped with my terrible personality, and now I'm bothering you with my stupid problems, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...” 

“Hey”, he interrupts me softly. “That's not true. What you have to understand is that it's just your mind telling you these things. Your mental illness or whatever. I'm no pychologist, and I don't want to diagnose you or something. But the point is, that's not how it really is. Nobody hates you. People usually don't even notice those small things you hate about yourself. You're not as bad as you think... in fact, you're not bad at all. You're an amazing person.” 

“It's just hard for me to believe, you know.” 

“I know... I don't mean to belittle your problems by saying everyone has experienced something like that, but I think I can at least imagine how you're feeling. I just wish you could see yourself through my eyes. I wish you could love yourself as much as I love you, because you deserve it.” He stops, realising what he just said. “I mean... no, I meant what I said.” 

My hearts flips over, in a beautiful way this time. I have thought it so many times, even before we met in real life, when it was just late night Skype conversations and texting all day long, and I thought it in every second I was looking at him and finally touching him and sleeping next to him, but none of us has ever said it out loud. If I say “I love you too” now, it will sound much less sincere than his spontaneous words, won't it? But if I don't respond... 

“I'm sorry”, Phil says. “I didn't want to pressure you. If you don't want it, I'm taking it back, and you don't have to react at all -” 

“No”, I cut him off. “Don't take it back. I love you too, I really do.” 

“Wow. I've never... I've never said that to anyone, honestly.” 

“Wow. Really?” 

“No, I've never felt the way I do about you with anyone. That's so cheesy, but it's true.” He laughs, but becomes serious again. “I just wish I could be with you now. Just to hug you and make you feel better.” 

“You've already done that”, I say. My heart feels so much lighter after talking to him. “But of course it would be so much better to be with you physically.” I can't keep a hint of longing out of my voice. 

“I know”, he sighs. “It's been, what, three weeks since we met? I can't believe it was the first time I saw you in real life, I feel like I've known you forever.” 

“Yes, something like that.” In fact, it has been exactly twenty-four days. The day we met is circled in my calendar, and I have been counting the days. 

“I'm looking forward to seeing you in December. I've told you my parents won't be there, didn't I?” 

“You have.” The prospect makes me smile. It will almost be like living alone together. “Thanks again for cheering me up.” 

“No problem, I'm glad I could help. You can always call me if you're feeling bad.” 

“If you still want to skype...”, I suggest. 

“Of course I do! I mean, I should be doing homework, but who cares about that.” 

“See you in a minute, then.” I'm smiling widely as I hang up.


End file.
